GIO
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My tongue explores her, savoring every reaction I draw from her. Nestled between her thighs, I glance up to catch her shifting expressions, pure ecstasy written across her face. Her legs tremble with pleasure, each stroke sending her closer to the edge.
I revel in it: the taste of her, the alluring curve of her lewd expression. It leaves me craving more, wishing I had taken her like this sooner.
This woman, the one I swore I could never fall for, has completely captivated me. I find her irresistible, utterly sexy, and alluring in every way. She is the one I desire, the one I crave.
A few hours earlier...
For someone like me, who thrives on control and stability, the mere thought of anyone touching something or someone that belongs to me infuriates me beyond reason. The idea alone makes me fantasize about which of my guns I'd use to blow a hole through their fucking skulls.
You can only imagine the thoughts that plague my mind as I watch a guard with filthy hands reach out to touch the very woman who will, sooner or later, be mine. I don't care who's watching or what they think of me.
I don't want anyone other than me touching her.
"Miss Valentine," the woman behind the receptionist desk calls out my name, and all eyes shift toward me. "Valentine!" she screeches, and the entire staff stops to bow in my direction.
I ignore them.
Slipping my tie loose, I walk past the high-ranking individuals, their stunned faces lingering on me as I move. I couldn't care less about their reactions. Having the person who owns at least five percent of their company and the very owner of the only six star hotel must come as a shocker to them.
But I don't spare them a second glance. My focus is solely on the woman in front of me.
My woman.
The woman I alone will control.
"Mia bella," I say, stopping just inches away from her. My gaze lingers briefly on her friend Kendra, to whom I send a quick wink. "I didn't expect to see my future wife here."
I let the words hang in the air, watching as the meaning sank in. The shock on her face is immediate and unmistakable which only excites me more.
"Your wife?" The room erupts into murmurs. Even Asher, Hale, and Isabella, standing by the door, look stunned by my words.
"What...?" she stammers, stepping back.
"I didn't know she was your wife!" the receptionist blurts out softly. I'm not ready to address her yet, or the grave consequences she'll face later for her careless ignorance.
"What crap are you talking about?" Onelia whispers to me, her voice filled with disbelief.
Stepping closer, I grab her by the waist, feeling that same jolt as before trailing up my hands and spreading through out my body as I pull her closer. "You're going to be my future wife, Onelia Romero," I repeat, my voice steady.
Then, leaning down to her ear, I lock eyes with the receptionist; my stare alone makes her go stiff. "For now," I whisper, my voice low. "Tell me what punishment that woman should receive."
"N-no," she stutters.
"No, what, mia bella?" I pull back slightly to see her face, the shock now replaced by sheer terror. Sighing, I step away and turn back toward my group. "See to it that they get a presidential suite. Oh, and Law, come to me once they're settled in."
"Ma'am." Law bows.
But as I pass him, I leave one more instruction for him. "Bring that mutt as well." I gesture to the receptionist.
"Yes, Ma'am!" the receptionist shouts, only hear for first command
If only she knew what was coming to her for disrespecting my future wife.
Rejoining the others, I notice the amazement still lingering on their faces.
"You didn't tell me you were getting married," Asher says, punching my shoulder playfully.
"It's something new," I reply casually, glancing back to steal one last look at her before we leave.
It may not have been the best way to tell her, but it doesn't matter. Sooner or later, she'll come to understand. She is going to marry me, no matter what.
Without knowing it hours flew by, and soon we've all chosen the perfect outfits for the masquerade party. Finally, Law walks in, bowing as I take a seat in the chair provided for us.
"Did she get my little gift?" I inquire.
"Yes, Miss," he replies formally, a habit that makes me frown.
"Come on, you've been working with me for years. Cut the formalities and have a seat." I gesture to the empty chair, and he takes it. "Now, is the mutt with you?"
He nods, and the receptionist stumbles in, her body trembling like a fragile leaf in the wind. The sight makes my lips curl into a sneer, the urge to break her even more consuming me with every passing second.
Before I can get a single word in, she shrieks. "I didn't know she was your wife!" Her voice is so shrill it makes my ears ring.
Annoying.
I barely suppress an eye roll as Isabella strides up, her elegance untouchable, her presence alone enough to put this trembling wretch to shame. "So, what do you plan on doing with her?" she asks, her tone bored, like she already knows the answer.
I take my time getting to my feet, watching as the woman's legs buckle and she drops, her entire body convulsing with terror.
"You do have a ties to a great make up artist don't you Isabella?" I ask casually, stepping closer beside Isabella.
"I do, but why?" she questions, turning halfway toward me.
A smirk tugs at my lips as I stoop down, fingers gliding through the strands of her hair—dry, stiff, and reeking of desperation. Oily from overuse, fried from too many passes of a cheap flat iron.
Close, but not close enough. Nothing could ever match that flawless brown, that healthy, untouched glow.
"Trying your best to be the prettiest little receptionist," I murmur, eyes scanning her with disdain. "Flirting with every wealthy man you see, turning your nose up at the women. Hoping—what? That one day, some rich old bastard will pluck you from your misery and turn you into a trophy wife?"
She stays silent, eyes darting away, cowardly.
My fingers tighten in her hair, jerking her head up. "I asked you a question, mutt."
"Y...Yes, ma'am. I'm sorry," she whimpers, tears finally spilling over, dripping onto my suit.
"Unsightly."My nose wrinkles.
The one thing I despise most? A woman who crumbles so easily. Weak. Spineless. So effortless to break. That's what I call a useless woman.
"Isabella, get in contact with that makeup artist," I command. She nods without hesitation as I rise back to my feet, staring down at this waste of a human life.
The woman gasps through her tears. "Wha... what are you going to do to me?"
I barely spare her a glance as I turn away. "Isn't it obvious?" My voice is calm, effortless. "You're going to die, of course."
That revelation is all it takes. She breaks completely.
Pathetic. What a waste of air.
"Law."
"On it." At once, he gets up and moves over to her.
All of this for one woman. My woman.